My granddaughter Emily kicked me out of my apartment, claiming it was hers. Little did she know, her “perfect” fiancé, Tom, had a dark secret that would turn our lives upside down and teach us both a hard lesson about trust and family.
It’s been a tough journey since my son and his wife died in that terrible car crash six years ago. I’ve raised my granddaughter, Emily, since she was 16. Wasn’t a walk in the park, but we managed.
Last Tuesday, Emily burst into our apartment, beaming. “Grandma! Guess what?”
I looked up from my crossword puzzle. “What’s got you so excited?”
“I’m engaged!” She thrust her hand out, showing off a flashy ring.
I felt my stomach drop. “Engaged? To whom?”
“Tom! We’ve been dating for two months. He’s perfect!”
I set my pen down. “Two months? That’s awfully fast, don’t you think?”
Emily’s smile faded. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”
“I’m just concerned. What about your studies?”
She waved her hand dismissively. “College isn’t for me. I’m dropping out.”
“Emily, you can’t be serious. Education is crucial.”
“For what? I’m gonna be married. Tom will take care of me.”
I frowned. “And if something happens? If he leaves?”
“He won’t,” she snapped. “Why are you being so negative?”
I sighed. “I’m just looking out for you, dear.”
“Well, don’t. Oh, and by the way, I need you to move out.”
I blinked, sure I’d misheard. “Move out? Of where?”
“This apartment. It’s mine now.”
“Emily, I said you’d inherit it after I pass away.”
She shrugged. “Same difference. I need it now.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“Not my problem,” she said, checking her phone.
“Emily, this is ridiculous! You can’t just kick me out!”
She barely looked up from her ever-present phone. “Watch me. I want you gone by tomorrow.”
I tried reasoning with her, but it was like talking to a brick wall. That night, I barely slept, my mind churning with worry and disbelief.
The next day, Emily literally shoved me out the door. “Time’s up, Grandma. Tom’s moving in tonight.”
Standing in the hallway with a hastily packed bag, I pleaded, ‘Emily, please. Let’s talk about this.’
She rolled her eyes and dismissed me with a curt, “There’s nothing to talk about. Bye.” Then the door slammed shut in my face.
I spent the night in the hallway, still in shock. How could my own granddaughter do this?
In the morning, I went to the store and bought a new outfit so I could make myself presentable to see a lawyer. We filed a lawsuit to reclaim my apartment, but I had something else in mind to teach Emily a lesson.
I called my sister, Beatrice, who lived in another town. “Bea? It’s Evelyn. I need a favor.”
“What’s wrong? You sound awful.”
I explained the situation, and Bea was livid. “That ungrateful little… Of course, you can stay here. Get yourself over here, and we’ll figure this out.”
After taking the bus to Bea’s and settling there, I rang up my colorful old friend Fiona. She runs a PI firm.
“Fi, I need your expertise. Can you look into Emily’s fiancé?”
“Sure thing, Ev. What’s his name?”
“Tom. That’s all I know. But I’ve figured out how to find him on social media channels — my granddaughter taught this old dog some new tricks.”
“Text me whatever you have on him and give me a few days. I’ll see what I can dig up.”
“Okay, will do, Fi, thank you,” I replied.
While Fiona investigated, I called the lawyer about my apartment and told him to hold fire on the lawsuit to reclaim it.
“It’s pretty clear-cut,” the lawyer said. “The apartment’s in your name. She has no legal right to it.”
“I just hope it doesn’t come to that. I want to talk sense into her first,” I replied.
Three days later, Fiona called back. “Ev, I’ve got bad news. This Tom character’s a real piece of work.”
“How so?”
“He’s conned at least four wealthy women in the past three years. Left them broke and broken-hearted.”
My blood ran cold. “Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. I’ve got all the evidence right here.”
I thanked her and hung up. Poor Emily had no idea what she was walking into.